


Last Request

by Vanyel



Category: Team Fortress 2
Genre: also sniper that's unsanitary even for you, dead guy mouths are not clean, inspired by one of those six-word prompts i'd done before, possibly homoerotic knife fighting, thank you evil senpai
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-17
Updated: 2016-05-17
Packaged: 2018-06-09 01:48:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,625
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6884026
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Vanyel/pseuds/Vanyel
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sharing a cigarette with the corpse.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Last Request

Sniper sat on the crate, facing out of the window over the dusty desert. He set the rifle down against the sill with a soft sigh. Every day, all day, it was the same thing, over and over-shoot the idiots down below, duck his head down once in a while when they fired a single shot back before forgetting about him with their goldfish-level memories, maybe throw a jar out the window onto a burning teammate if he felt like it, rinse and repeat. It was boring, unfit work for a man of his caliber. Shrugging, he lifted the gun, taking a quick shot and letting out a deep chuckle as he watched the enemy Heavy fall stiffly with a bloody hole between his eyes, accidentally pinning the protesting Medic behind him underneath. That was always an entertaining little thing to watch. Have to enjoy the little moments, he reminded himself. Every long-term job had the little moments that would be what he actually remembered later. Like that time out in the bush he’d had to sleep in the corpse of a water buffalo for a week, or that one assassination job somewhere in the Alps where his target had-

A creak on the floorboards behind him made Sniper stiffen momentarily, before a small grin appeared on his face. The main distraction that had begun to make life in this wasteland bearable had shown up. He set the gun down again, almost idly leaning back and letting his hand drift down the side of the crate to the handle of his kukri, attempting to appear casual as his fingers curled around it. It was all an act. He knew the other man knew he knew he was there. This had become their courtesy, the routine whenever the two ended up in this little room on the battlefield together, which was quite frequent nowadays. It was not a normal type of company by any means. But nobody would call anything in the Gravel Wars normal.

Yawning softly, Sniper stood, stretching his back and pushing his aviators up his face with his free hand before stepping over the crate. “Yer team’s doin’ a little bit better than normal,” he commented to the visibly empty room. “They’ll be down fer a bit til Respawn frees yer Medic from under th’big guy’s fat dead arse, though. Whichever egghead at corporate thought leaving the bodies hanging around until after the next death was a bloody idiot.”

The pause lasted just long enough for him to begin to doubt whether or not Sniper had actually heard anything at all, that he’d just imagined it. Finally, his statement was greeted with a dry laugh from the corner. “I told them to let the beam of the Medigun cover more distance,” a voice, rich and silky with an edge to it, replied. “That’s the sixth time you’ve caused the exact same ‘accident’ this week. You think they would learn by now.”

“Wot can I say? We both know how close together those two like to be,” Sniper shrugged, shifting a little closer to the source of the voice. He fancied he could make out the wispy outline of a man’s upper body leaning against the wall, and his grip on the knife tightened. “Never out of arm’s reach.”

The voice chuckled again, the faint outline slipping away as it shifted, smoke wisps trailing after it before fading into the dying sunlight. “Unlike you, monsieur,” it purred, suddenly behind him, and the Sniper whirled, still seeing nothing. “You prefer the shot made from nowhere and anywhere, the bullets flying from impossible locations into precise marks; to be as far away from your target as possible, and from your team; to be close to nobody at all.” He heard the flick of a collapsed knife clicking into place. “So how will you deal with someone who manages to get up close and personal with you, hmm?”

Sniper raised the knife, one eyebrow raised towards the nothingness in a challenge. “Says the man who don’t even want to be seen, slippin’ in and out of the shadows, takin’ name after name an’ lover after lover because you’re too scared to let anyone stick around.” He shot a toothy grin at the invisible man, hearing the rushed intake of breath. “Yer not the only one here who’s got access to more than the files, mate. But really, the enemy Scout’s mother? I’ve seen pictures, mate, and one would think a man of taste would have better taste.”

The cloak dropped, and Spy rushed at him without a sound, face showing only a hint of surprise and anger at that last statement. Sniper raised his kukri just in time to deflect the balisong blade aimed at his heart, pushing it down and back along with its wielder. The two men stared at each other a moment longer, slow matching grins spreading across their faces, before both leaping forward to meet the other this time.

Again and again they clashed, knives flashing and glinting in the dying desert sunlight streaming through the window, glancing off one another. Neither gave the other an opening, circling and stalking, two hunters who had both decided the other would be their prey. Every now and then, a stray deflection would catch a wrist or a cheek, but no sounds were made but the clash of steel against steel.

Finally, they began to waver. A hitched breath in a tired lung, a parry that came half a heartbeat too late, and Sniper batted Spy’s knife out of his hand, sending it clattering across the hardwood floor, far out of reach. The man raised an eyebrow, spreading his arms out in invitation, head tilted in acknowledgment of the victory. Stepping forward, Sniper pressed the tip of the kukri against his chest, pushing the jacket to one side and reaching his other hand forward to pull out a pack of cigarettes from the inside pocket. He opened the pack one-handed, pushing one up and pulling it out with his teeth, closing the pack and returning it to its original resting place. Sniper smiled around the cigarette, digging in his own pocket for a lighter. “Guess I can enjoy getting close after all.”

The words sounded loud after the previous silence, and the Spy returned the smirk. “Indeed, monsieur,” he chuckled weakly. “Mind sharing that little cigarette with moi? Think of it as a last request.”

Sniper shrugged, his grin taking on a toothy edge. “Sure, mate.”

The kukri thrust through the Spy’s chest, drawing a gargling gasp of shock from him as Sniper stepped closer to the Spy, to get the knife in as deep as it would go before stepping back and yanking it out, a little bit of blood flicking off the blade and splattering on the walls. Looking up at him with a mixture of acceptance and a strange betrayal, Spy fell backwards, his limp body thudding dully onto the hardwood floor.

Finally pulling out his battered lighter, Sniper flicked it over the end of the cigarette, chuckling softly to himself and the body before him. The flame caught, and the familiar scent of tobacco returned to the room as Sniper tucked the lighter back, snorting amusedly to himself. He leaned down to wipe the bloodied blade off on the Spy’s crisp white shirt, setting it on top of his chest as he sat back on the crate, finally allowing his breathing to settle. It had been a close fight.

He took a long drag on the cigarette, blowing a ring of smoke out of the window with a sigh, then pulled it out of his mouth and placed it between the Spy’s lips, tapping it down between the corpse’s locked teeth to keep it held there. “There ya go, mate,” he grinned to himself, picking up the rifle and gazing back out the window, training his sights on a distracted Engineer setting up a teleporter. A small chuckle escaped the Sniper after a glance back at the smoking corpse. “If ya had wanted that last cig while you were still alive, ya shoulda said so.”

It was a little past ten minutes before the creak of the wood sounded again. The body of the Spy was still lying on the floor, the cigarette clenched in its teeth as his living counterpart let out an amused snort at the sight. “Only you would choose to share a cigarette with a corpse, monsieur,” he teased softly, leaning against the far wall.

Sniper hadn’t even looked away from the scope. “Better than smokin’ alone, like you always do, after the fact. I see you hangin’ out up in here for a few after I Respawn, talkin’ to my dead body. Thought I’d try to see the appeal, and it wasn’t too bad.” He fired off another shot, chuckling as the Soldier’s scream rang across the battlefield. “Hell, could almost pretend you were alive an’ just lyin’ there bein’ quiet. You were doin’ just as much good, an’ a lot more pleasant to be around.”

“You really are a lone dog,” Spy huffed softly. “You despise even my company that much, that you find the presence of a dead version of myself is preferable to the live one? ”

The Announcer’s voice rang across the desert, ending the battle for the day. Setting the rifle back down on the sill, Sniper chuckled softly. “If I hated bein’ near ya, I’d’ve thrown the corpse outta the window, mate.” He reached down, pulling the barely-lit cigarette out of the dead body’s mouth before it popped into nonexistence, and offered it to the Spy, shrugging. “Ya can still have it if ya want.”

Spy’s only answer was a slow smile.


End file.
